Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Two days ago I clicked okay on a facebook "friend" request. He was someone I didn't know, but I thought, perhaps he knows me - parts of our lives are a bit public. Is that the polite thing to do? Some of my "friends" are very careful. I am less so. They do not "friend" anyone they don't actually know, some have blocked "friends" and even left facebook because of "friends." Yesterday, "Dave .J. Mills!" aka old-lady-predator? sent me a message. I've since blocked him, deleted him, reported him, and shot him to outer space.

I suppose this has happened plenty to you? This is my first. I'm a little naive. However, it struck me as so ridiculous it was funny. There is only one thing I admire about him as an English-is-not-my-first-language person - he must have used spell-check. Not a single spelling error! "LOLL."

On this blog I have said my purpose is finding in life the sacred, the ordinary and the funny. This, to me, is a funny. So here: for you.

Hello Pretty,

How you doing, nice profile you've got
there and a beautiful person, one thing I know for sure about the beauty is
that ; beauty is skin deep not all about the physical appearance and what I've
read on your profile you're a very beautiful woman in all ways, well I think I
better introduce myself before getting talks out, LOLL. I'm Dave .J. Mills! ,in
my profession i am a sale personnel, i am new to dating online I just thought
I'd give it a try and I hope it works out for, I've seen a lot of testimony
that really encouraged me but I think starting up friendship is a good idea. I'm
seeking for a trust and honest woman, I want a woman that I can trust without
question and who can trust me the same. I am a confident, articulate, educated,
successful professional that is seeking the exceptional partner. Athletic,
Adventurous, and Romantic individual that enjoys walking out, music, movies,
laughter, dining out. I have not found that yet, but I am eternally hopeful. i
am a very easy going person, a very emotional man, who likes swimming, music, camping,
shopping, and lot of funs, i want to be loved and treated right, its really
hard to find true love and serious relationship, just want to give it a try, and
see where this end but i believe it gonna end in a good ..way. am.. some one
who is very concern and open minded man love to kiss my woman deeply and make
her happy i bet with the good scene of humor with me.

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Our book group recently read Stealing Rembrandts – an entire book tracing lost and stolen works
by Rembrandt. One of the etchings that was missing for years and then turned up
was The Good Samaritan. (1633)

What drew me first was the topic: Prodigal Son. How could he
portray this subject that has so exhaustively, and sometimes dead boringly, explored
by generations of artists and Christians? I was curious to see whether it could
speak to me.

I first noticed that the figures were ordinary in stature –thick-fleshed and lumpish. They were
working-class folks. Rather like the people I come from – hard-working
Norwegians and Swedes – our bodies made to plow and milk cows. During
Rembrandt’s time it was customary, in fact, considered proper, perhaps
mandatory, to depict the human body as idealized – the classical Greek-look.
Muscular, lean, tall, perfect, god-like. (Today, advertisements daily remind us
of the 21st century impossible classic: long, thin, lean, corded
thighs and six-packs.)

So his viewers must have been a little uncomfortable looking
at themselves, ordinary as they were, as we all are.

What captured my imagination (if you allow me) was the mangy
dog in the foreground of the etching. A defecating dog. It is impolite to look
at such things, much less write about them, and yet he forces us to look
because it is a right up-close, in-your-face focal point. What could he mean by
including what seems disgusting to us?

Then I read the following explanation:

Rembrandt’s point –
which seems not to have been recognized until Goethe took note of it in an
essay almost two centuries later – is that true Christianity is active, not
passive. It is all very well for the Samaritan to help the wayfarer; in fact,
it is his duty. But if the Creator chose to put into the world people whose
bodies fall short of the Greek ideal, man is not to quarrel with this or be
revolted by it. Further, if the Creator also saw fit to give life to ugly dogs
who are under the same necessity of relieving themselves as a Prince of Orange,
man cannot quarrel with that, either. A Christian must have reverence for all
life, even if aspects of it occasionally disgust him. This seems to be
Rembrandt’s understanding of Scripture.(p. 66)

I cannot argue with this. In fact, I like etching the more
because of it and would like the Truth of this to be “active, not passive” in
my life.

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

We waited weeks for six days last October when we could
spend time at a quiet place on the north shore of Lake Superior. Finding time
to rest, taking time to come apart for renewal and refreshment has been one of
my long-winded topics. I tire of too much muchness. I don’t think it is just
me, I suspect many of us suffer want in this area. Sometimes we need to be way
away.

Back of Morning Light

We have been at this place before and I long for it. Long to
be away from the busyness of my life. Selfishly, in the days preceding, I hold
my breath and pray that no one will die, forcing me to cancel plans. We arrived
at “Morning Light” late in the day and turned down the track that winds through
birch and bracken, scattered black spruce and fir, tawny grasses growing
thigh-high right up to the car doors and up to the back of the simple cabin which
is all dark and closed. The air is filled with the resinous scent of pines and
poplar trees that have dropped their leaves in drifts. Only one small window
shows on the second floor, but when you walk through the back door, through the
darkened entry hall, it opens to a view of the entire horizon from east to
west. Light floods from skylights and the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows
across the front. Even gray days cannot staunch the light.

Morning is breaking

The first morning, as I woke, from our bed I could see a
faint, faint line of light on the other side of the world and quietly moved to
a living room chair with a cup of hot tea to wait for dawn. The morning stars
were still visible. How to describe this, this pre-historic daily show with
colors that flare and spread? If you name them they sound commercial. Artificial.
Yet they pre-date the earth. God-made lemon-yellows and melons began pushing
against the dark-violet sky. They stain and slowly creep up the sky like water-color
paint seeping across paper. Then, suddenly fire appears – the bright oranges
and reds of a blast furnace burns under the line until the round globe of sun
springs above it. It’s rays blaze my retinas. I close my eyes and still see it
clearly. Now it touches my face and how is it that it does not burn but only
comforts?

Lake Superior is cold and empty. This is its appeal.
Nothing. Nothing. No boats, no yachts, no humans, only an eagle drifting and a
few low-flying ducks pumping past inches above the waves. Sky and water framed
by a tortured spruce and the shoreline of boulders and rock cliffs. No
distractions, just the endless rollers, breaking, breaking, breaking. My mind
and heart feel scrubbed. Scoured. Cleansed.

Warmed by the sun

That night a storm blew in and the next morning I couldn’t
see beyond the white foam of the first breakers. The wind blew and rain beat
against the windows. God, tracking me through storms. I could stay here
forever. I think.

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Toads Drink Coffee

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Japanese Coffee art: "Kitty chasing fish latte."

Toads, etc.

For many years we lived in Toad Hall, an old American Gothic Foursquare house named for the mansion in Wind in the Willows although ours wasn’t really a mansion, the kids just thought it was. Now we live in a different home – one more suited to aging with dignity – yes, well, we can hope – The House Between. “Between” because we are living that stage of life between now and what is to come. Sound a little macabre? It’s not. We needed move to a space with main floor accessibility for older people who may not always be able to climb stairs to sleep and eliminate. We love this home in a quiet neighborhood with offices overooking the wooded ravine behind where we feed birds and watch coyotes play leap frog. We love knowing, too, that this is not our final place – there is more healing and goodness in the next life. I’ve kept the name of my blog toadsdrinkcoffee because I don’t know how to migrate to a new one. The name is now even more obscure, but it had to do with living in Toad Hall and my addiction to coffee. However, I did migrate my old publication – Notes From Toad Hall– to the new one Letters from the House Between.